Patricia Ondish Poet Narrative

The Last Yearn of the Deadman Walking

My hands cup my face,
My head hangs oh so low ,
How did I get here ?,
Why I don't know,
My mother said she loved me, My father left a day,
           Shackles On,
I walk the mile,
The chains clink on , I hear no sounds,
I see no faces just a blur,
I walk the longest steps of my end,
When I was free ,I would run to never more,
                      Shackles off,
The final click,
I lay down against my will,
My body trembles with the fear, 
Oh, Dear mother do not sob,
I am cold as I lay near death, I long to feel warmth once more,
My eyes now close, As I pray ,
All is gone,  
May God have mercy on me.

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Ken O Leary January 15, 2010 at 6:04 AM great poem,you sound as if you have been locked up,great words,look at some of my poems,words say a lot,dont hold them in,just let the feelings flow,well done